


Special Nights

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Miracles, Christmas Shopping, M/M, New Year's Eve, POV Outsider, Seasonal, the kindness of strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was unshaven, a bit scruffy-looking, with dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders, under a plain black ball cap. He wasn’t wearing a coat, just a thick hoodie and jeans. His gloved hands were in front of him, each holding a handmade greeting card, and he was frowning at them. </p><p>“I can’t,” he said, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used much lately. “Decide. Tell me— which, please. Ma’am,” he added desperately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Hekkenfeldt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekkenfeldt), who wanted a Christmas miracle.

“Slow night,” Priya muttered.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to 8, to closing time. The last time she’d checked, it’d been eleven minutes. She drummed her fingers on the counter and thought about locking up early. The store was empty, and it would likely stay that way; it was Christmas Eve, a snowy Christmas Eve at that. The float was counted, the cash was in the safe, and her husband and daughter were waiting for her.

Still, she decided — it wouldn’t be any skin off her nose to wait out the clock.

She was alone, having sent the help home at 6. Jess had been complaining about having to work at all, but Priya had needed her. Niches, her little shop, her pride and joy, was a hot spot for last-minute holiday shoppers in Brooklyn, probably because it carried a little bit of everything: unique gifts made by local artisans, things that couldn’t be found anywhere else in New York. Priya had built the business for browsers, wanderers like her; she could get lost in the aisles as easily as any of her customers.

Speaking of which, Priya decided to spend the last few minutes going up and down the rows one more time. Jess had assured her that everything was neat and tidy, but Jess was a spoiled teenager, and Priya didn’t want to re-open on the 27th to find a mess that she’d overlooked or hidden.

She reached the end of one aisle, turned the corner to go up the next, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

She wasn’t alone in the store.

The man didn’t seem to notice her loud gasp, even though she was less than ten feet away, and there was no way he didn’t hear her. Priya, feeling her heart rate start to slow, took in his appearance and realized she recognized him.

He was unshaven, a bit scruffy-looking, with dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders, under a plain black ball cap. He wasn’t wearing a coat, just a thick hoodie and jeans. His gloved hands were in front of him, each holding a handmade greeting card, and he was frowning at them.

He had been in and out of Niches several times in the last month or so and never bought anything. Occasionally, he would pick up a trinket to examine it, but he gravitated toward the cards. Priya had watched him closely the first few times he came in, but he never stole anything, either, unless he could move a lot faster than she thought he could.

Jess called him the Creep and swore he was homeless. Being raised with a lot of privilege, though, Jess tended to think anyone with dirty shoes was homeless. This man's black leather boots weren’t dirty tonight, though. They were dry, despite the snow; he must have been in the store a while. Carole, the weekend manager, was a little more polite and a lot more poetic about the man. She called him the Wanderer. Her theory was that he wasn’t quite “all there,” whatever that was supposed to mean. Unlike Jess, Carole didn’t seem afraid of him, and, looking at him tonight, neither was Priya.

He still hadn’t seemed to notice her, though. Priya took another step forward and cleared her throat softly, not wanting to startle him.

He blinked three times, slowly, then turned to face her. There was something almost robotic about the movement. Though his eyes landed on her, he seemed unfocused, like he wasn’t really seeing her.

“Sir?” she prompted.

He tilted his head slightly, the ends of his hair brushing the stubble on his chin.

“Sir,” Priya said again, in a slightly louder voice. “I’m afraid the store is closing, Sir.”

His eyes widened in alarm and he whirled back to look at the cards in his hands.

“You can still purchase those,” Priya reassured him. “Just bring them up to the front and I’ll ring you through.”

He turned to face her again, looking lost and frightened.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used much lately. “Decide. Tell me— which, please. Ma’am,” he added desperately.

He sounded _terrified_ , and Priya’s heart broke a little. “Okay,” she said gently. “Okay. What are the options?”

He visibly relaxed and held out one card for her to take. Its cover was sepia, like an old photograph. It was of a waterfront, with sailboats on the horizon and a large Ferris wheel in the foreground. There were people in the scene, but they were blurry with motion; the stationary features were the focus. On the inside, the card read, _The more things change, the more stable we remain. Happy birthday to my love._

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Priya commented, handing it back.

“I— I thought so, too,” the man said in a whisper, like it was a secret.

He gave her the other card, which was bright red with an evergreen tree and the words, _To my Sweetheart at Christmas_ , emblazoned on the front in silver.

“A Christmas card?” Priya asked.

He nodded.

Priya frowned. “I don’t understand why you can’t choose, Sir.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor abruptly. His mouth worked like he was trying to speak, but no words came out. He seemed to start breathing erratically, and his gloved right hand shook a little.

“No, no, no, it’s all right,” Priya said softly, hoping to soothe him. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry. I’m just a little confused.”

He didn’t look up, but his breathing seemed to get steadier.

“What I meant to ask was, why are you buying a card?” Priya went on gently. “Is it for Christmas or is it for a birthday?”

He blinked rapidly at the floor. “Missed his birthday,” he mumbled eventually.

“That happens sometimes.” Priya bit her lip, then decided to take a chance. “Is he someone special?”

The man nodded, still looking down at the floor.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?” Priya took one more step forward and ducked her head, trying to find his eyes under the brim of his hat. “He’s going to know you care, whether you give him a brown card or a red card. So maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said to his feet. For the first time, he sounded certain.

“Okay,” Priya acknowledged. “Well, how about you get both?”

Slowly, he raised his head and stared at her. “Both?”

She nodded and held up the red card. “This one will be for Christmas and the other... is just a little late for his birthday.”

The man’s mouth twisted into something like a smile, and he turned his head to the side.

“Pretty fucking late,” he muttered, then he looked up at her suddenly. “Pardon the expression, Ma’am.”

“It’s okay,” Priya replied with a chuckle. “I’ve heard worse. Hell, I’ve probably said worse.”

She handed him back the red card, and he smiled down at his hands. Priya thought maybe he was blushing.

“Now, come on up to the till,” she said, leading the way. “I imagine your special someone’s waiting for you.”

“Hope so,” he replied when they got to the counter.

“Is it far to get to him?” she asked, scanning the items.

“No,” he said, and he sounded almost surprised. “Not far at all.”

“Good.” Priya told him the total, then added, “You’ll get home to him just in time for Christmas.”

He froze, his hand in his pocket. “Oranges and cinnamon,” he said suddenly, like it was a revelation, then he smiled at her in wonder. The effect was startling: he looked years younger and somehow lighter.

She smiled back and waited patiently while he counted out pennies. When she held out the cards, wrapped in a plastic bag, he hesitated, then took them cautiously with his left hand, like they were precious and fragile. To him, Priya thought, they probably were.

When he got to the door, he turned back suddenly and made a gesture like he was tipping his hat, which made her grin. He broke into an easy, charming smile in return.

“Merry Christmas, Ma’am,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound croaky at all anymore. In fact, he sounded like a different person.

“Merry Christmas, Sir,” Priya answered.

He disappeared into the snowy night, and Priya locked the door behind him, hoping that he’d find his someone special.

* * *

New Year's Eve was shaping up to be slow as well. The snow of the last week had turned into slush, and rain was running down the front windows. After more than an hour without a customer, Priya retreated into the back room to sort through some new scarves.

Five minutes later, the bell over the door jingled.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “Be right with you,” she called, as she began to untangle herself.

“This the place?” she heard a man say.

There was no reply, so Priya assumed he was on the phone. Good, she thought, and she took a little extra time to make sure her rings didn't catch on the soft loops of wool.

As she came up the center aisle, she caught sight of two men who were turning away, looking like they were about to leave.

“Hi, welcome to Niches. Sorry about that,” she said in a rush, quickening her pace. “I was just...”

The man closest to her, the blond one, turned, and Priya's explanation died on her lips because Captain America was in her store.

He didn’t look like Captain America; he was carrying an umbrella instead of his shield, and he was wearing a black suit with a blue tie, but Priya watched the news enough to recognize his face. And standing beside him—

It was the man Carole had thought was crazy and Jess had sworn was homeless. Clearly, he was none of the above: he was clean-shaven, wearing a dove grey suit. He had his hands in his pockets, and his hair was slicked back into a low bun.

He caught her staring and ducked his head. “Hi again,” he mumbled.

Still shy, though, Priya thought warmly. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

Captain America gave her his patented brilliant smile, the one from the old news reels. “Not a thing, Ma’am. You’ve done more than enough. I just wanted to come by and say that I loved the cards you helped my friend pick out.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it,” Priya replied automatically, but then the implications of his words sunk in, and she looked to the man beside him with renewed awe. If Captain America was his someone special, then he must be someone pretty special too, she thought.

“Although,” Captain America added suddenly, glancing over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t mind a look at that canvas. What is that, pastels?”

Priya followed him to the display, and around the shop, answering his questions about the artists, making recommendations, doing the saleswoman thing, though she hardly had her work cut out for her; he bought one item from every artisan in the store.

“Jesus, Stevie,” the dark-haired man mumbled at one point. “Where are you going to put all this stuff?”

“Easy, I’ll just clear out that ugly shit Tony sent over,” Captain America replied carelessly, then he seemed to catch himself and gave Priya a wide-eyed look. “Uh, pardon the expression, Ma’am.”

Priya laughed out loud. “Don’t worry, I won’t call the tabloids,” she assured him.

“Appreciate that,” he muttered, though he was still kind of red.

The dark-haired man slung his right arm around Captain America’s shoulders in an easy, practiced gesture. “Come on, Steve. Pay the lady, so we can get to Stark’s party. Not that I’m dying to get there or anything.”

“Right,” said Captain America.

He pulled away from the dark-haired man a little reluctantly, sliding his arm down until they were holding hands, which was about the cutest thing Priya had ever seen. He paid her and handed her his card, telling her that someone would be by on the 2nd to pick everything up.

“And if you need anything,” he added seriously. “Don’t hesitate.”

“He even does kids’ parties,” the dark-haired man said, deadpan.

Cap glared at him for that, but he seemed unconcerned.

“Actually,” said Priya. “My daughter: she’s six, and she’s kind of crazy about you. You don’t have to come to her birthday or anything,” she added hastily, “but maybe you could just stop by the store sometime when she’s here? It’d really make her day.”

He nodded. “Of course. I’ll even bring my shield and my sidekick.”

It was the dark-haired man’s turn to glare.

“Besides,” the Captain went on. “This is a lovely store. I imagine I’ll be back again.”

Priya had heard that many times, mostly from people who picked up an item, checked the price, and then hurried in the direction of the door, but coming from Steve Rogers, it didn’t sound like a line at all.

“I look forward to seeing you,” she said, handing him his receipt. “Enjoy your party.”

“Enjoy your night, Ma’am,” said the dark-haired man, holding the door for Captain America.

“Priya,” she told him. “My name is Priya.”

He watched Cap walk out, then turned back. “I’m Bucky,” he said. “But don’t tell anybody, okay?”

She stared. “Bucky? Sergeant Barnes?”

His smile collapsed all at once, and he looked down at the floor with clouded eyes, uncertain and almost trembling.

“It’s okay,” Priya said quickly. “It’s okay, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He glanced up, swallowed hard, and nodded with an effort. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat and smiled at her again. “Happy New Year, Ma’am.”

“Happy New Year, Sir.”

Priya watched Steve Rogers light up brighter than a Christmas tree when Bucky Barnes stepped out into the slushy street. He raised his umbrella slightly, so Bucky could get under it, then he kissed him and held him flush to his side while Bucky hailed a cab.

“Someone special, indeed,” Priya murmured.


End file.
